


Helping Hands 💅✨

by murderlight



Series: Exposure Therapy 🖐💕 [2]
Category: Bleach
Genre: Fluff, Hugs, Humor, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Touch-Starved, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:01:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26226076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/murderlight/pseuds/murderlight
Summary: Continuing his campaign to introduce Grimmjow to the wonders of skin contact, Ichigo enlists help from an unlikely corner. At the Urahara Shop, Grimmjow warily approaches the bait.Ichigo really needs to stop hatching plans.
Relationships: Grimmjow Jaegerjaques/Kurosaki Ichigo
Series: Exposure Therapy 🖐💕 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1903105
Comments: 178
Kudos: 1263





	Helping Hands 💅✨

**Author's Note:**

> The second part! I wrote a massive run-up to [this piece of perfection by Liv](https://twitter.com/LivRay25/status/1296199204336001035?s=20), because I don't know how to control myself when something so adorable and soft turns up on my feed.

Ichigo decided to start with Grimmjow’s hands.

It was a humble goal, really. Having already acted on what, in retrospect, was probably one of his more suicidal impulses and only came out with a raked-open face, Ichigo felt kind of buoyed by hope that the worst was already over and the only place to go from there was up. All he had to do was find new and terrific ways to introduce Grimmjow to the wonders of human contact. Or shinigami contact, depending on how seriously Ichigo felt his life was in danger. But touching in general, until his angry ass settled down and realised that not everyone was the enemy.

Well, at the very least Ichigo wasn’t. Screw Urahara and his crafty-ass plots. Grimmjow could bite him if he wanted to let off any steam.

Hand touching felt like a good starting point. A great one, even. He’d be budding with ideas about it in no time.

“How do I touch his hands?” Ichigo asked hopelessly a few hours later, prodding at the faint pink lines on his face. Isshin was a better healer than that, but he’d been laughing too hard to finish the job completely once Ichigo told him the story. Stomping off only seemed like the right and correct thing to do. Across the small dining table, Yuzu and Karin stopped their mutual eyebrow waxing session and gave each other the kind of look only twins could understand.

“Get the kit,” Yuzu said to Karin primly, right before she braced her sister’s forehead and yanked off the wax strip stuck to her face. Ichigo flinched for her, but she hardly winced. “I’m thinking the serum.” Seeming to understand what the hell that was, Karin left for the stairs. Ichigo watched her leave with a worried feeling that giving Grimmjow some kind of girl potion was going to leave him with worse than some temporarily disfiguring scratches.

‘The serum’ ended up being a small bottle of nail polish. It held a clear liquid inside it, but it was very clearly a nail polish. Karin slammed it down in front of him like a shot glass on a saloon bar and crossed her arms.

“It’s a nail strengthener,” Yuzu said smugly. “He likes his hands, right? You want this, and you want my coconut oil moisturiser. It’s great for delicate skin and it doesn’t stink like tanning lotion.”

“Delicate skin,” Ichigo repeated, thinking about the plush black softness he’d rubbed his cheek against. It had felt like landing on a warm, soft pillow after an exhausting day out in the cold. “Hey, how do I give someone a hand massage? Those are a thing, right? Ishida’s always doing some weird massage to himself after he spends too long sewing.”

“Look it up on YouTube or something,” Karin said, pulling the moisturiser tube out of one of the drawers of their shared toolbox of makeup things. It was small and had a picture of a happy coconut on it. Weird marketing, since coconuts had died for that lotion. “But start small. From the sounds of it, this guy is like a stray. You’ve gotta lure him in over time before you jump to the big things.”

“He tries to stab me all the time, though,” Ichigo exclaimed. “Why can’t I touch his hands for free?” Too much silence followed that. Yuzu gave him a long, judging look.

“There was a lot wrong with that question, and you should think about it when you go back to Urahara’s to buy me more candy tomorrow.” Turning away from his slowly reddening face, Yuzu started packing away the array of beauty items scattered across the table. Ichigo had no idea why everyone in the house but him wanted to do their bathroom stuff out in the open, but he left them to it without argument for once. Free girl advice and two items to help him out with Grimmjow? He needed to shut up and make himself useful.

Useful was relative, however, and mostly involved sitting at Urahara’s low table the next afternoon, sniffing nail serum off the little brush inside the lid and wondering if he was going to get high. There was a definite element of cognitive whirlyness to that stuff, and he wasn’t sure what secrets were contained inside it. Beside the unscrewed bottle was the lotion, standing on its lid so the label faced the right way up. The little coconut seemed to be laughing at him.

“He’s in the shower,” Jinta said as he walked by, his arm in a cloth sling. He looked deeply depressed. “And before you ask, I walked into a door. A door that Ururu shut on my arm because I plugged a nosebleed with one of her tiny tampons. Can I come live with you? I’ll work for food.”

Ichigo was saved from having to politely decline as a loud drumbeat of footsteps rolled down the stairs, and after a few seconds a really grumpy-looking Grimmjow emerged barefoot and damp-haired from the hallway. His jacket was missing, his zipper yanked down a lot further than usual. His cheeks were pink. Ichigo could almost see the steam curling off him from the blistering heat of the shower. His hair was slightly darker than usual from a recent washing and it tumbled over his forehead carelessly. Grimmjow looked at the table contents while Jinta skittered away into another room like a startled bug, trying to get out of his orbit.

“The fuck are you doing here,” he asked, sounding groggy. “You’re in my spot.”

“It’s a round table,” Ichigo said blandly, and started to experimentally coat his thumbnail in the clear solution. It went on like a thin layer of oil, which quickly started to dry on his nail. “Pick another seat.”

“You’d better move, man.” Jinta’s voice drifted from up the hallway. “My head busted through the shoji last time I was in his spot. Territorial asshole.”

“Fuck off, Jinta,” Grimmjow snarled, his head whipping around. More thunder up the stairs said Jinta had obeyed orders without question. Jeez, he really was an asshole to them. Maybe Urahara honestly did need some kind of help. It still didn’t explain why Ichigo had to be the one to do it, but maybe he could get some clarity on it. Pleased he’d had the foresight to arrive in his shinigami form, Ichigo braced himself and patted the floor next to him, budging over only a little.

“Come and sit next to me. My sisters gave me something you might want to try out.”

Grimmjow grunted in the process of pulling on his white jacket, which had been fished out from under the table.

“I can see just fine from here.”

“Don’t be a chicken. I promise I won’t put my face on you again.” Ichigo patted the floor again, rubbing a small inviting circle on it with his palm. “C’mon, it’s still warm from my ass.”

For some reason Grimmjow wasn’t enticed by that information. He did approach though, but only to sit on the direct opposite side of the table. His legs stretched out so far underneath it that his bare foot bumped Ichigo’s folded legs, pushing against his shins annoyingly. His blue eyes were smug enough that Ichigo knew he was doing it on purpose.

“I’m gonna suck on that toe if you do it again,” Ichigo said as he looked back down at his work, stroking the brush over his next finger. The foot vanished. When he glanced back up, Grimmjow’s face was carefully blank—and furiously pink. Ichigo held up the small bottle. “This is Yuzu and Karin’s nail strengthening serum. It’s supposed to make your nails stronger.”

Grimmjow all but snatched it out of his hand, lifting it to his nose. He wrenched his head away instantly.

“It stinks,” he coughed, his eyes tearing. He handed the bottle back. “Is this poison?”

“Only if you drink it.” Ichigo decided to pounce lightly. “If you wait a few minutes, I’ll do your claws with it.” Grimmjow stopped trying to wipe his eyes and glared at him mistrustfully. “As an apology for yesterday. I shouldn’t have gotten so carried away with your paw pads.”

“They’re not fucking paws!” Grimmjow lifted his hands up for display, showing palms that were sword-calloused and pale. “In resurreccion, my feet are paws! My hands are just hands.”

“But they have that little soft part like paws do,” Ichigo argued. Nobody had hands like those. “I’m friends with Yoruichi, Grimmjow. I know what cat feet look like.”

“And I used to fuckin’ _be_ one, so I know what I’m talking about.” Without explaining what the fuck that meant, Grimmjow grabbed the lotion tube with a proprietary hand and flicked the lid off with his thumb, sniffing it instead. “This one isn’t so bad.” He squirted out a tiny fountain of white lotion and licked it off the hole experimentally. His face didn’t change much, but he capped it again and rubbed his tongue with one fingertip.

Ichigo internally aged about ten years at the sight, realising the wild animal stuff hadn’t been an idle insult. He went back to applying serum to his nails, certain that image was going to be burned into his brain forever. But curiosity killed the dumbass substitute shinigami, so he just kept right on with what he was doing. He had no errands until next week, anyway.

For all his complaining and bitching, Grimmjow actually seemed content to watch him work, his eyes growing heavy-lidded and sleepy in the productive silence. Planting his cheek in his own hand, his feet came slowly creeping back towards Ichigo under the table, extending just until their bare soles could warm against his shins. Ichigo didn’t move or say a word, contentedly going about his work and thinking about the occasional flex of toes against his leg.

He was on his third unnecessary coat of serum when Grimmjow finally spoke.

“Hurry up and finish.” The order was accompanied by two hands that slid across the table, palms down and fingers splayed. Under Ichigo’s amazed eyes, short black fur spread across them, his nails darkening and growing long and curved. The rest of Grimmjow stayed exactly the same, including his sleepy blue eyes. “Do mine. Just keep your damn face away from them.” Slowly, he sank his head down until his cheek could smoosh up against his bicep, pillowing it so he could still watch what was going on with pupils like big dark pools.

Like it was no big deal to just reach out and let Ichigo touch his hands.

Maybe he was making progress after all.

Capping the bottle, Ichigo fanned his hands so that his last finger dried quickly. It was just some oil mixture so it only took a few seconds, but some instinct said if he took too long he was going to lose his chance. When the clear sheen was completely gone, Ichigo very slowly and obviously reached towards Grimmjow’s hands. The pink scars on his face were still a little tender; he didn’t need any more of them. He hovered over them both.

“Which one do I start with?”

“Pick one.”

“Are you going to attack me if I grab your hand?”

“I’m gonna attack you if you keep fucking around. Pick one.”

Hard to second-guess a statement like that. Ichigo chose his left hand to be safe, tugging it toward him and turning it so the thumb claw was pointed in his direction. Grimmjow watched in silence with enormous catlike blue-black eyes—and let him. God bless Yuzu and Karin. Strong nails. _Geniuses_. He prepped the little brush and lowered it in the first stroke across the lethal claw presented to him.

Nothing happened. Just a tiny flex of fingertips against the laquer of the worn table. The oil made Grimmjow’s claw shine like onyx in the late afternoon light coming from the kitchen window, spilling across the floor in wide swaths of gold. It looked so pretty that Ichigo forgot his nerves and turned his hand eagerly, wanting to see them all gleam like that before they dried off.

“Feels weird,” Grimmjow mumbled when Ichigo finished the first hand. He looked ready to fall asleep. “Like a cold lick on the end of my finger.”

“It’s because you took such a hot shower.”

“I like it as hot as I can stand.” While Ichigo was trying not to think about that, he unexpectedly added, “I hate being cold. Hierro never stops the cold.”

“I thought hierro made you feel nothing.” Slipping his hand underneath Grimmjow’s palm, Ichigo lifted it so he could get to the very tips of his claws. It slipped their palms into contact, but Ichigo refused to react to the plush pad that rested against his. Instead he dabbed the very tip of each claw with the little brush, coating it completely. They pricked the soft skin of his inner wrist almost instantly, but it was only gentle reflex. It was almost cute, really.

“Hierro just stops you damaging my skin.” Grimmjow’s brows knit slightly. “The nerves are all still there. If my whole skin was numb I’d be dead six times over by now. Still need to feel some things, even if I hate it.”

That was food for thought. Carefully putting the finished hand down on the table, pressing it flat so Grimmjow would keep it there, Ichigo picked up the other one. It was easier to do it like that anyway. Getting oil on the table was just messy. Besides, there was something relaxing about painting such a tiny little canvas. Ichigo wasn’t at all artistic, in fact he’d often made fun of Rukia’s passion for drawing, but maybe he could start to relate. Or it was just the relaxed doze of Grimmjow’s head slowly leaning heavier into his own arm that was sending awful, affectionate flutters of butterflies up through his chest.

“Your hand is warm.” Grimmjow’s words were more rumble than syllable. “This isn’t so bad.” His eyes slowly slid closed. “What’s that other white goo for?”

“Hm?” Half-lulled into the rote motions, lazy in the afternoon sun, Ichigo almost had to wake himself up. “It keeps your skin from cracking and getting dry. But your hierro probably does that already.”

“Guess so.” Grimmjow’s eyes were closed by that point. “You can do it anyway. Just don’t rub my palms too hard. Fuckin’ hate anything rough on them.” After a short silence, he admitted, “You had cheek stubble yesterday.”

“I did?” Ichigo blinked rapidly, still trying to process the sudden permission. “But I can hardly grow anything there. It’s like my dad hoarded all the facial hair genes and never gave me any.”

“It was scratchy.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Was he growing a beard? Finally!

“Whatever.” As the last claw was stroked into shining brilliance, Ichigo blew softly on it, tilting his head to get all the others. Maybe it helped, maybe it didn’t. He had no real idea what the hell he was doing, anyway. It was just fun to see Grimmjow slowly letting him take liberties, like yesterday had really opened a gate between them. Hell, they were technically holding hands—

“Are you okay?” Ichigo blurted out, realising Grimmjow’s face had gone from warm pink to a florid red. “You’re really flushed. Is it an allergy? Does anything hurt? Are you feverish?”

“Shut up. I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” Letting go of both hands, Ichigo got up on his knees and leaned over the table to press the back of his hand to Grimmjow’s forehead. It felt hot. “Maybe it’s a fever. My mother used to check my fevers with her lips. She said the thinner skin made it easier to tell.” Ambling over, Ichigo rounded the table and took Grimmjow’s face in both his hands, pulling it up until startled eyes met his. “I hope that nail oil wasn’t really poison for you. Hang on for a second.” Tugging Grimmjow’s head down, Ichigo pressed his mouth experimentally to the smooth skin of his brow. It was really warm against his lips. Fever warm? Or just arrancar warm? He actually had no idea how to tell.

“Kurosaki,” Grimmjow grated, sounding like he was about to detonate again. “What the fuck?”

“I’m checking for a fever.” Obviously.

Grimmjow stiffened. “I don’t get fevers!”

“Then why are you so damn red?”

“Because!” With a mighty push and way too much force, Grimmjow shoved Ichigo away. He rolled a few times before he caught himself, half-crawling back before he saw the overwrought look Grimmjow was giving him. “You keep doing new shit to me and now you’re kissing my head!”

“I wasn’t…” Except of course he had been. Ichigo had kissed Grimmjow’s forehead.

Kissed it.

With his mouth.

On his skin.

Well, that was definitely one to repress for a while.

“Sorry,” Ichigo said reluctantly, planting his hands down on the floor between his knees. Grimmjow looked at them like they might actually be live snakes. “I should have asked first. But you know I wouldn’t hurt you or anything, right? Even when I do surprising stuff?”

“ _No_ , I don’t fuckin’ know that.” The black fur receded on his hands, returning them to their more human facade. Grimmjow frowned at his nails, which had dried off completely by then. He looked deeply displeased—and a little upset. “Think I’m just gonna let you do whatever you want? I stayed alive this long by keeping every asshole at arm’s length. Attacking before they could. Letting ‘em just close enough to cut their throats. It’s my fucking nature, and you’re trying to ruin it!”

It was a great opening to continue the conversation a little deeper, but Ichigo didn’t take it. He was too occupied by the hard pang that came with learning Grimmjow didn’t trust him. He really thought he had no honour? That he’d strike while his back was turned? The knowledge punched all the air out of his lungs. Slowly, he sat back on his ass, trying to get a read on the way Grimmjow was looking at him.

“I thought you at least trusted the kind of person I am,” Ichigo said steadily. “That actually fucking hurts, Grimmjow. I know we met on opposite sides, during a war even, but sometimes you seemed to know me better than I knew myself. You really think I’d stab you in the back?”

Grimmjow only snatched his gaze away, glaring down at the table. The sting of that crystallised Ichigo’s wounded feelings into something defensive. Shit. He didn’t realise he’d been wasting his time that badly.

“You seem to want to try to trust someone, at least.” Moving back to the other side of the table, Ichigo shoved the serum and lotion back into the recyclable bag Yuzu had given him. He pushed it across the table to Grimmjow and got to his feet. “I hope you find whoever that is. Sorry I pushed you so hard. I just—I wish I’d known this a lot sooner.”

Fuck, he was getting upset. Leave it to Grimmjow to land a critical hit with just a handful of words. The worst part was, the bastard didn’t even seem to care; he was too lost in his own trust issues and anger. Urahara would just have to manage on his own.

Ichigo had a hand on the door to the shop when the paper bag sailed into the back of his head with a thud.

“Ow.” Turning, he rubbed the back of his head. What now?

Grimmjow was fidgeting at the table—and his hands were planted down on the wood like they had been before. He looked ready to crawl out of his own skin.

“You didn’t do the lotion thing,” Grimmjow said, pointedly not looking at him. When Ichigo just stood there, he chanced a look up at him. Some of the air left him in a harsh exhale. “It is you, all right? If I need to learn this shit so I can tolerate being around these other assholes, I want you doing it.” He swallowed with what looked like a lot of difficulty. “I lied, all right? I fucking trust you. You’re probably the only person I _do_ trust. I just don’t know what you’re about to do til you’re already doing it, and it’s pissing me the hell off.”

“Oh,” Ichigo said faintly, staring down at the discarded bag. He felt a bit lightheaded with the information. “So I’m going too fast, and I should explain things when you’re confused? I can do all of that.”

“Whatever,” Grimmjow muttered, looking so very uncomfortable with what he’d just said. “But I’m not some fucking pussy or anything, you get it? And I’m not stupid. Treat me like I’m stupid and I’ll kill you.”

“I know how smart you are, stupid.” Grimmjow’s head jerked up in outrage, only to see Ichigo’s big shit-eating grin. He settled down with ill grace, but folded his legs and got up from the table completely, skulking over to where Ichigo was standing by the door. His expression was completely unreadable by then.

“Good. Then—you can do stuff, I guess. Til I tell you to fuck off, anyway.”

“Yeah?” Ichigo asked, not quite sure if he should believe it. He suddenly and horribly wanted it to be true. Grimmjow’s face relaxed a little. He nodded.

“Yeah.”

Ichigo never considered himself to be demonstrably affectionate, and definitely not to the degree that Urahara seemed to expect of him. None of that mattered a bit as he slipped his arms under Grimmjow’s and stepped in, pressing their chests together in a solid, firm squeeze of a hug. In the brief moment of contact he stole for himself, Grimmjow was warm and his body felt heavy against Ichigo. It was unexpectedly nice. Of course it didn’t last, as Grimmjow grabbed Ichigo’s arms and shoved him back, hands squeezing tightly. His expression was somewhere in the realm of furious and appalled.

“What the _hell_ was that?” The words came out dangerously rattled. Grimmjow’s whole face was locked up in a snarl. Ichigo said the only thing he could think of.

“Affection!” he said confidently. “That was a hug. People like to squeeze each other like that when they’re happy with them.” Realising that was probably too broad for a definition, he added, “It’s only for when you really like the person, though.” That ought to stop him strangling anyone. Probably.

“Disgusting,” Grimmjow proclaimed. Strangely, his expression faded out of that disgust really quickly. Belatedly, Ichigo realised what he’d just said about himself in that definition of hugging. By then Grimmjow was looking down at his own chest and hands, paying no attention to Ichigo’s sudden awkwardness. His fingers flexed a little. He cautiously patted at his own chest. Slowly, he chewed down on his bottom lip. It was stupidly endearing.

Finally, Grimmjow looked up and spread his arms a little. His blue eyes held a grudging kind of surrender in them.

“Do it again.”

He was every bit as warm and solid as he’d felt the first time. A little humbled, Ichigo wrapped his arms around Grimmjow’s back and squeezed gently, resting his cheek against a soft rumple of damp blue hair. This time he didn’t let go right away, letting Grimmjow feel it out for himself. And with the slow dawning realisation that a hug really was that simple and unobtrusive, Grimmjow reached up to Ichigo’s shoulders and wrapped his arms back around him, his head dipping just a little into the motion. After another considering second, he pressed the weight of his temple against Ichigo’s head. It wasn’t a nuzzle, but it felt really fucking close.

Relaxing into him, Grimmjow slowly transferred all his weight into Ichigo’s hold, his body heavy and trusting inside his arms. Unable to help himself, Ichigo rubbed his hand gently over Grimmjow’s back, answering the movement with what he hoped was a nice little stroke of contact. All he received was a rumble of noise that transferred from Grimmjow’s chest into his own.

Jeez, it was really nice, Ichigo admitted to himself, lulled by his breathing. Grimmjow felt as warm as a cat that had been laying in the sun, and he smelled like fresh soap from his shower. He was clean and firm and draped all around Ichigo like a heavy blanket of limbs. Grimmjow felt surprisingly perfect. They fit incredibly well, actually—

A soft snore broke the silence. Ichigo blinked hard.

“Did you just go to sleep?”

His only reply was a mumbling denial. A really sleepy one.

Well. Maybe it wasn’t perfect, and maybe Grimmjow had just been tired, but there was no denying it was excellent progress.

Ichigo was finally getting somewhere.

**Author's Note:**

> 🤗
> 
> If you enjoyed this, a kudos would be very appreciated! 🥰


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